Crowfeather’s Trial

by Erin Hunter

  Or, if I fail, maybe my kin will feel they have to do it. I can’t put that burden on them.

  It felt strange for Crowfeather to muse that maybe not being deputy was a good thing. If he had been, he would never have dared to go behind Onestar’s back like this; as a warrior, he had less to lose. That conviction was all that kept him going, once he could hear the gurgling of the stream that formed WindClan’s border with ThunderClan. He couldn’t help remembering how forcefully Onestar had refused to ask for help from the rival Clan.

  And now here I am, going to do just that. Cats have been banished from their Clans for less.

  Approaching the stream, Crowfeather tasted the air, picking up the stench of the ThunderClan scent markers and, beyond that, the fresh scent of ThunderClan cats. A few heartbeats later, Berrynose and Thornclaw emerged from behind a clump of elder bushes that grew on the bank of the stream.

  Oh, StarClan! Not Berrynose again!

  Crowfeather signaled to them with his tail. The two warriors stiffened at the sight of him, and Crowfeather saw them slide out their claws. He didn’t move any closer to the border, waiting while the ThunderClan cats sniffed warily and let their gazes flicker along the bank to either side of him.

  After a moment the two cats relaxed, retracting their claws; clearly, they hadn’t picked up any other WindClan scent. Even so, Crowfeather stayed where he was, not moving forward to the edge of the stream.

  “What do you want?” Berrynose asked.

  “I need to speak with Leafpool,” Crowfeather replied with a respectful dip of his head. Like I’ll ever respect Berrynose! But for now, I need him to cooperate. “I have something very important to discuss with her, and it can’t wait.”

  Berrynose and Thornclaw exchanged a dubious glance with a hint of hostility. “What’s this all about?” Thornclaw asked. “Clan business? Medicine-cat business?”

  “Private business,” Crowfeather responded.

  Berrynose let out a snort of amusement, though Thornclaw remained serious as he glared at Crowfeather with narrowed eyes. “I think you’ve shared enough private business with Leafpool,” he growled.

  Oh, for StarClan’s sake! Crowfeather forced his neck fur to stay flat. “It’s nothing like that,” he mewed defensively.

  The two cats hesitated for a moment. Then Berrynose gave Crowfeather a brusque nod.

  “You’ll have to stay there, on your own side of the stream,” he responded. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to escort you into camp just now.”

  No, not after all the trouble at the Gathering, Crowfeather thought, trying not to feel insulted. It seems like every cat is feeling extra protective these days.

  “That’s fine, thanks,” he replied. “I’ll wait here.”

  The two ThunderClan cats disappeared into the undergrowth, heading for their camp. While he waited, Crowfeather found himself staring at the stream as it flowed lazily over the stony bed. There were times when he had seen it running faster, and the thought drew him back once again into Kestrelflight’s vision.

  I don’t think the underground river would ever swell enough to surge out in the kind of flood Kestrelflight saw. The water must mean something else—but what?

  Crowfeather pursued the answer as if he were stalking a crafty bit of prey, lying in wait for it to show itself, but for all his efforts he was no closer.

  “Best give up,” he growled aloud, though no cat was listening. He gave an annoyed flick of his tail as he wondered if he really did need to take on the responsibility for his Clan’s survival.

  Crowfeather hadn’t waited for long before the undergrowth parted and Berrynose and Thornclaw reappeared. Crowfeather felt a tingle of excitement in his pads at the thought of seeing Leafpool again. While his feelings for her had changed over time, he knew he could count on her to understand the urgency of what he had come to say.

  Then the ferns parted again. He stifled a hiss of irritation as he saw that the cat who appeared wasn’t Leafpool.

  It was Jayfeather.

  “I said I wanted to see Leafpool,” he meowed, gazing at the ThunderClan cats in confusion.

  “We weren’t too sure about your private business,” Thornclaw explained. “Besides, Leafpool was busy, so we figured Jayfeather would be fine.”

  A furious retort rose to Crowfeather’s lips, but he bit it back. He had experienced enough awkward encounters with one son; he wasn’t prepared for another.

  The two warriors withdrew, while Jayfeather padded up to the bank of the stream and leaped across as confidently as if he could see the edge. Crowfeather was impressed to see how capable his blind son was. An odd kind of affection swelled inside him, but he knew that he’d played little part in Jayfeather’s life. It’s no thanks to me that he turned out so well.

  Jayfeather’s ears were pricked, and the fur on his shoulders was beginning to rise. He didn’t look any happier than Crowfeather felt.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. “Whatever it is, it had better be good. I’ve interrupted my duties to come to see you. I don’t like being summoned as if I’m a lazy apprentice.”

  Crowfeather fought against an impulse to turn around and go home. Jayfeather was difficult and gruff at the best of times. With all that had been going on, it wouldn’t be easy to ask him for help.

  But I’m like that, too, he admitted to himself. Perhaps I have passed down something to this kit.

  Crowfeather remembered his dream, and the good advice Feathertail had given him. He knew he had no choice but to give it a try.

  “I want to talk to you about the stoats,” he began. “WindClan hasn’t been able to deal with them at our end of the tunnels. In fact, they’re a much bigger problem than we thought at first.” He hesitated, scraping at the ground with one forepaw. “The truth is, Jayfeather . . . WindClan needs ThunderClan’s help.”

  Just as he had expected, Jayfeather gave an angry lash of his tail. “Then why did Onestar insist on handling it himself? And why didn’t he come with you and ask to talk to Bramblestar?” His ears pricked suddenly in a gesture of astonishment. “Does Onestar even know that you’re here?”

  “Well . . . no,” Crowfeather confessed, expecting that Jayfeather would refuse to say any more.

  Instead, to Crowfeather’s surprise, Jayfeather seemed almost impressed, a rusty mrrow of amusement coming from his throat. “You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that,” he meowed. “So Onestar is still insisting on coping with this alone. . . . Doesn’t he realize that if the stoats get bolder and stronger around the tunnels, it’ll be a threat to ThunderClan as well?”

  “Of course, but—” Crowfeather broke off as Jayfeather interrupted him.

  “We’ve extended our patrols, and we haven’t seen much of the stoats on our side lately. I assumed they had gone for good, but obviously they haven’t.”

  “No, and the problem on our side is pretty bad,” Crowfeather admitted, with a renewed pang of regret as he thought of Nightcloud’s death. “We thought we could handle it on our own, but we underestimated the stoats, and that was a mistake. Besides, I’m getting the feeling that they’re more than just a pest.”

  “Why is that?” Jayfeather asked.

  “You were at the Gathering,” Crowfeather replied. “You heard what Kestrelflight said, about the vision of water emerging from the tunnels, water that could flood the Clans’ territories? I’m beginning to think that the stoats are part of that.”

  Jayfeather said nothing, but Crowfeather could see from the tilt of his head that he was listening intently.

  “What if the stoats are a small problem,” he went on, feeling slightly encouraged, “but one that would leave the Clans vulnerable when faced with a bigger challenge?”

  Jayfeather rolled his sightless blue eyes. “After everything that happened with the Dark Forest,” he mewed, “you think StarClan is going to try to frighten us using stoats? You should leave the prophesying to the medicine cats.” He half turned a
way, as if he was about to leave.

  Crowfeather did his best to ignore the jibe. “It’s the Great Battle that has me worried,” he responded, desperate to make Jayfeather listen. “That showed me that all our tussles over territory until then had been minor. I never expected that the Clans could be pulled into a conflict that claimed so many lives. If it happened once, it could happen again.”

  Jayfeather let out a snort; clearly, he was still unconvinced. “And a bunch of stoats are really going to start the next Great Battle?”

  “They could,” Crowfeather insisted. “It’s not so far-fetched. The stoats have already killed one cat and seriously injured another. And they’re getting bolder every day—maybe because we’re still gathering our strength. They’re fast and spiteful, and that makes them deadly—and there are a lot of them. Even if all the WindClan warriors went up against them at once, we would still be outnumbered. WindClan and ThunderClan need to work together, for the good of both Clans—and maybe ShadowClan and RiverClan too.”

  “But Onestar hasn’t changed his mind?”

  “No,” Crowfeather admitted. “Onestar still won’t hear of cooperating. The idea will have to come from . . . some other cat.”

  Jayfeather’s whiskers arched in surprise. “You are sticking your nose into a bees’ nest, aren’t you?” He hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll talk to Bramblestar about it. He’s reasonable; he’ll probably take this seriously.”

  His confident tone and his obvious respect for Bramblestar reminded Crowfeather of how close Jayfeather was to his Clan leader: At one time, they had believed themselves to be father and son. And Bramblestar was a great father to him . . . maybe better than I could have been.

  “If you want my advice,” Jayfeather continued, “WindClan needs to sort itself out. If you had brought this up right from the start, maybe Nightcloud would still be here.”

  Crowfeather winced at his son’s blunt criticism, but said nothing. He’s not wrong.

  “If nothing else,” Jayfeather went on, “the Great Battle should have taught all the Clans the importance of working together.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Crowfeather acknowledged.

  Jayfeather twitched his ears irritably. “I always am,” he meowed.

  Crowfeather dipped his head, then felt his pelt bristle with embarrassment—Jayfeather couldn’t see his gesture. So he thanked his son sincerely, and watched as Jayfeather leaped neatly across the stream, back to the ThunderClan side.

  It’s amazing how a blind cat can cross a stream of water without once stopping to feel his way with his forepaws.

  As Jayfeather disappeared into the bushes, Crowfeather watched, feeling as though a thorn had pierced his heart. Jayfeather was ornery, it was true . . . but he was also a clever and special cat. He got the orneriness from me, Crowfeather reflected. Of that I’m fairly sure. But what about the rest?

  He couldn’t help but wonder how Jayfeather might have turned out, had he raised him instead of Bramblestar. Would he have become the medicine cat he is now? Or would Jayfeather’s paws have led him down a different path?

  He thought of Breezepelt . . . insecure, angry, and struggling. How much of that was because of me? Would Breezepelt be any different now, if he’d been raised by another cat?

  On his way back to the WindClan camp, Crowfeather felt a weight settling over him, as if his pelt were soaked with muddy water. He tried to shake it off, telling himself that it was too late to have these thoughts about Jayfeather. Jayfeather was grown up, a full medicine cat, a vital part of a different Clan.

  But Breezepelt . . .

  Crowfeather shook himself, thinking that he didn’t have time to think about the problems of his own making right now.

  There were more important matters to be dealt with.

  When Crowfeather reached the WindClan camp, he immediately spotted Onestar sitting outside his den. The Clan leader rose to his paws, glaring at Crowfeather as he padded down the slope and crossed the hollow to join him.

  “Where have you been all day?” Onestar demanded.

  Crowfeather took a breath. He had known when he left that Onestar would want an explanation, and he had decided to tell the truth. “I’ve spoken to Jayfeather,” he replied. “I told him what’s been happening at our end of the tunnels. ThunderClan needs to know for their own safety—and ours. I’ve asked them for their help.”

  Onestar tilted his head, his eyes widening. He drew his lips back into a snarl, while the fur on his pelt bristled in fury. “How dare you?” he spat. “How could you go behind my back like that and share our private business with ThunderClan? Are you a loyal WindClan warrior or not?” Lashing his tail, he let out a growl deep within his throat, then continued without giving Crowfeather a chance to defend himself. “I can’t figure out what’s going on with you lately. It’s this kind of reckless behavior that kept me from making you deputy. I thought you put your Clan first, but maybe I was wrong.”

  Anger swelled up inside Crowfeather, but he forced himself to stay calm. “It’s because I’m a loyal WindClan warrior that I went to ThunderClan for help,” he responded. “I know working with ThunderClan isn’t ideal, but it feels like the only way to make sure we all survive. I won’t stand by and let what happened to Breezepelt and Featherpaw—and Nightcloud—happen to any other cat in camp because we were too stubborn to ask for the help we need. I won’t put Hootpaw or Heathertail in harm’s way just to protect WindClan’s pride!”

  Onestar lashed his tail again, his anger clearly mounting. “Who are you to talk about WindClan’s pride?” he demanded. “It’s your own pride that’s important to you, Crowfeather. A loyal warrior would have asked his leader’s permission before going to ask for help from another Clan. And a disloyal warrior has no place in WindClan!”

  Crowfeather was silent, his gaze locked with Onestar’s. Is that a threat? But you wouldn’t have given your permission, would you?

  The Clan leader was the first to look away. “What’s done is done,” he snapped. “Now I’ll have to decide what I’ll say to Bramblestar.”

  He rose and turned to enter his den, then paused and looked back at Crowfeather over his shoulder. “Don’t think this is over,” he snarled. “I’ll deal with you later.”

  The sun was starting to go down as Crowfeather returned to camp, a small vole dangling from his jaws. Dropping it on the fresh-kill pile, he glanced up at the sky, judging that there was time to go out again before darkness fell.

  But I’ll take a few moments to rest first, he thought, padding over to the warriors’ den. His pads ached from pounding the hard ground. I can’t wait for leafbare to be over.

  As Crowfeather settled into his nest, he spotted Breezepelt and Heathertail returning to camp, deep in conversation, and so close together that their pelts were brushing. Even as he noted Leaftail and Gorsetail huddling nearby, eyeing the couple suspiciously, he felt an unfamiliar emotion swelling in his chest: happiness that his son had a cat who cared about him, but also optimism that one day—maybe soon—Breezepelt would be accepted as a Clan cat once again.

  After all, if Breezepelt became Heathertail’s mate—Heathertail, who was such a respected warrior—and had kits with her, raising a whole litter of new WindClan warriors, which cat would dream of doubting where his loyalties lay?

  When Heathertail moved off to the fresh-kill pile, Crowfeather rose to his paws and padded over to Breezepelt. “How’s your injury?” he asked.

  “Oh, it’s fine,” Breezepelt responded with a dismissive flick of his tail. “Hurts a bit, but I can deal with it.”

  “You know, Heathertail isn’t listening,” Crowfeather mewed, gently teasing. “You don’t have to act tough.”

  Something flashed in Breezepelt’s eyes, and for a moment Crowfeather thought it was irritation. He felt panic beating inside him like a trapped bird, worried that Breezepelt wouldn’t take his comment in the way he meant it. Then he saw a faint gleam of amusement in his son’s
eyes.

  “Are you trying to tell me you’ve never done the same?” Breezepelt retorted.

  “Well . . . I can’t remember a specific time,” Crowfeather replied, his pelt beginning to grow hot with embarrassment. “But I’m sure I must have acted tough to impress a she-cat at some point.”

  Once again, as soon as the words were out of his mouth Crowfeather regretted them. Breezepelt must be thinking of how many she-cats I’ve loved.

  But there was no hostility in Breezepelt’s expression. “I feel guilty, thinking only of Heathertail and my feelings for her,” he meowed, surprising Crowfeather with his honesty. “There’s so much else going on in the Clan, and we’ve lost Nightcloud. . . .”

  “Maybe that means you truly love Heathertail,” Crowfeather suggested, feeling daring, as if he were about to fight a fox. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Breezepelt said nothing, only giving his chest fur a couple of embarrassed licks.

  No wonder he feels embarrassed, Crowfeather thought. He’s young, and it’s hard to discuss she-cats with your father—especially when you don’t know your father all that well. Come to think of it, my father, Deadfoot, was always busy, since he was Clan deputy. I’d have died if I’d had to talk to him about she-cats!

  “You’ll be okay,” he mewed, risking a joke to reassure his son, “provided you make less of a mess of things than I did.”

  He braced himself for a scathing retort, wondering yet again if he had said the wrong thing.

  But Breezepelt simply let out a snort of amusement. “That wouldn’t be hard!”

  The two toms settled down together, gazing across the camp, in the first comfortable silence Crowfeather could remember between them. Even though it was a bad time for the Clan, even though he and Breezepelt were still grieving for Nightcloud, Crowfeather felt a pleasant warmth spreading beneath his pelt. Just for a moment, they were starting to feel like father and son.